What Do You See?
by American Gelato
Summary: Italy feels like a total disappointment. Why can't he get into shape! He just sees himself as a failure. Well, Germany certainly doesn't thinks so. Some fluffy GerIta for you all, with a special guest appearance by our favorite Prussian and a cameo appearance by a certain yaoi-loving Hungarian! Rated because of a little bit of language.


**A/N: This was supposed to be done and posted on Election Day, but that obviously didn't happen. -_-**

**Any-hoo, there are two outside references in here, and I won't be putting up a disclaimer for them this time (Once again, this is ****_Fan_****fiction, there is no way that I could own all this junk), and you all will have to guess what they are and where they're from. Mwahahaha, I'm so evil :] And, to wrap it all up with a big red bow, I even made Italy OOC! Hoo-fucking-ray! **

**But seriously, have fun reading this. Enjoy! ;D**

Italy stood in front of the mirror, a disapproving look on his face. He didn't think it was this bad…

He was currently shirtless, standing in only a pair of sweatpants. It was the weekend, and Germany had decided it would be best to compromise that there would be absolutely no training on weekends. At first, Italy was ecstatic, and relished every moment of those relaxing two days without having to worry about getting up at exactly five-thirty a.m., getting dressed in under five minutes, and having only ten minutes to prepare and eat a _healthy _breakfast ("No pasta allowed!" Germany had said the first day. Italy was heartbroken) before he had to hit the track. But recently, he had started to dread the weekly paradise that he used to treasure.

Just two weeks ago, Italy had walked into the bathroom much like he was now, shirtless and relaxed, and noticed something that he hadn't before. He turned to fully face the mirror, and poked his stomach. His finger sank into his belly up to the first joint crease, the one closest to his fingertip. Beginning to feel uneasy, he pinched the skin that rested just above the waistband of his pajama pants, and was mortified to see that he pinched what Germany would call "unacceptable flab". Italy felt his heart sink. He thought he was making good progress on his overall health. And he really was. Germany had even told him the day before. But the fact that there just seemed to be so much _more_ than the Italian had initially thought made his heart clench with disappointment and something that felt quite a bit like shame.

He wasn't overweight, not at all. In fact, many of the other nations had noticed the improvement of his health since Germany had first agreed to train Italy in combat, back when they, along with Japan, had decided to form the Axis Powers. France had even showered Italy with compliments about it, saying that he looked _très magnifique_ and to keep up the good work, he was so proud. Hearing that from Big Brother France made Italy's heart soar, and encouraged him to keep doing his best every day, whether he was actually training or not. But now he was not so sure…

And here he was, after two weeks of vigorous training, and absolutely nothing had changed. Italy felt so disappointed. He had tried and tried and tried, but nothing worked. He couldn't do _anything_ to change it, and that frustrated him to no end. He could feel tears well up in his eyes, and tried his best to prevent that stinging sensation, the one that meant he would start to sob soon, from getting any worse.

"Italy, are you in there? I made breakfast for you when you're ready." Italy heard the all too familiar voice of Germany accompanied by the jingle of the door knob turning. Not wanting to be seen like this, Italy flung himself against the door, blocking the German's entry.

"Hahahaha! Okay, Germany, I will be out there in a minute, _ve~_!"

"Italy, what's wrong with you? You sound panicked."

"Nothing's wrong! Heh…heh…heheheheheh!"

"Italy, open up right now and let me in."

"Uh… no!"

"…Did you just refuse an order from your commanding officer?" Germany asked in a low voice.

"Eeep! No, of course not! I would never do that, _ve~_!"

"Then. Let. Me. In. Now, Italy."

"No…" he trailed off, already feeling the tears leak from his eyes and start to travel down his cheeks, "…you'll be so disappointed…" he added in an undertone.

Unfortunately, the alert German didn't miss a word. "…Disappointed? Why would I be disappointed, Italy? Did you do something wrong? If so, I'm sure it can be fixed…"

"No! You don't get it!" Italy sobbed, abandoning all efforts to keep himself from doing just that. He slumped down the counter, away from the door, and drew his legs up close to his body, his hand gripping his head as though he had a killer headache. "It can't be fixed, don't you see?! I've tried, Germany! Every day, and it doesn't get any better-her-heh-haaaah!" he was crying freely now, his sobs loud and unmistakable for anything else. He had cried many times before, but the last time it was this bad was when Grandpa Rome had disappeared. That had been so long ago, too… He remembered swearing to a distressed Romano that he would never cry that hard ever again. After seeing how much anguish it had caused his _fratello_, he didn't want to worry anyone like that ever again.

_Well, _he thought bitterly, _I can see how far that got me…_

He was brought out of his thoughts by a pair of strong arms picking him up, bridal style, and carrying him back into the bedroom Italy stayed in. Even though the two counties didn't live that far from each other, Italy had to cross Switzerland's territory to get here. Doing so resulted in him being used, against his will, for spur-of-the-moment target practice. By the time he reached Germany's house, he would be battered and worn, and in desperate need of some TLC. Germany always had a bedroom ready for Italy to sleep in, clean and comforting. The champagne colored covers were always crisp and clean, the dresser always had Italy's spare clothes folded and laundered, and the floor was free of any debris whatsoever. It was those little things that Italy was grateful for after a long day of training.

Germany then made himself comfortable on the center of the queen-sized bed and pulled Italy close to his body. Despite being in mental torment, Italy was still Italy, and since he was "like an adorable little cuddle-bunny" (as Prussia would put it), the Italian shifted so that he sat in Germany's lap, facing him, and proceeded to wrap his arms and legs around the strong German soldier. Burying his face in his shoulder, he cried and cried and cried, not caring anymore about what Germany might think. It wasn't like the situation would change for the better, so he might as well get used to being ridiculed and scolded.

However, that wasn't what happened at all. Germany rocked his and Italy's bodies back and forth, hushing him and hugging him close. No, he was gripping him with such _possessiveness_ that Italy thought he would just melt into Germany's body, and he quite liked that idea. He would be warm like he was now, at least.

As Italy calmed down (more like ran out of tears to cry), his sobs soon took the form of hiccups, and his body only shook when they escaped his throat. He didn't realize it before, but Germany had been humming a German lullaby to him, and it was starting to have an effect on him already. But he wasn't allowed to slip into the Night Dimension just yet, for he had yet to answer the inevitable:

"What's wrong, Italy? What made you cry like this? What can't be fixed?"

Each question was like a shot in his heart, the anguish coursing through him like the immunization fluid, although it wasn't making him feel any better. He began to cry again (where he got those tears from, even he didn't know), the fresh ones mingling with the old, drying tear tracks and the mucus that was dribbling from his nose.

_I must look so attractive right now…_ He thought sarcastically.

"Germany, I'm fat." He choked out.

Germany deadpanned. He was positively befuddled. Why would Italy- loving, innocent, frankly _dense_ Italy- think something like that about himself? Italy was the kind of person to shower others with praise for their meritorious traits, never once thinking about himself. _So why was he now?_ He mused.

"Italy, you are most certainly not-"

"YES I AM! WHY CAN'T YOU SEE THAT?! I HAVE BEEN WORKING SO HARD TO GET INTO SHAPE, AND IF ANYTHING I GAINED MORE WIEGHT OVER THE LAST TWO WEEKS! WHY CAN'T I BE MORE LIKE SPAIN OR PRUSSIA?! WHY AM I LIKE THIS?!" Germany was really concerned now. Fuck that, he was _scared._ This was the first time Italy had ever yelled at him. It was the first time the little Italian had ever yelled period. And now he was, sitting in front of him, chest heaving, eyes full of inner turmoil and anger, and _glaring_.

This needed to be addressed. _Now._

"Italy, I want you to listen to me," Germany began slowly, making sure he had Italy's full attention before continuing, "You are _not_ overweight. You are in better shape than half of the other nations in the world. That is something to be very, _very_ proud of. It's true, you have been working hard these past few weeks, and I'm very proud of you. Everyone is. You're getting stronger right before their eyes, _my eyes_." He said the last two words with as much feeling as he could pack into them, blue eyes boring straight into stunned amber ones, trying to permanently stamp the words he just spoke into the Italian's mind.

"But what about-"

"They aren't as healthy as you think. Spain is actually in pretty bad shape from taking all those _siestas_ every day. Have you seen him run lately? He runs out of breath by the end of the first lap. _You_ can run _four_ laps before being winded." It was true, now that Italy thought about it. He stared down at the cushy covers of the bed, avoiding Germany's drilling stare.

"And Prussia, have you ever paid attention to what he eats? He scarves down junk food and beer every single day, and the inside of his body is probably already undergoing premature decay and coated with plaque from all the saturated fats-"

"HEY!" and angry voice exclaimed. Both nations whipped around to see a very petulant Prussia leaning against the door frame leading into the bedroom, shooting death glares in their direction. "I honestly don't want to pry into whatever the hell your little cuddle-bunny session is about, but I would appreciate it if you would have a little more respect for my awesome body." Shoulders hunched and elbows bent like a child having a tantrum, the albino micro-nation then stomped off to do whatever his "awesomeness" so wished to do.

"…Anyways," Germany continued, glancing at the now empty doorway with a skeptical look, "Do you see? Just because people may look healthy on the outside doesn't mean that they really are. They're probably going to be the ones with the most health problems in the future. And Italy, just because you have a little bit more… uh… "flab" on your body, that doesn't make you overweight. Most women like men with a little meat on them. And that's true the other way around as well."

"But I don't care about what women think. I care about what _you_ think, Germany…" Italy murmured.

That caught Germany off guard more than the yelling. His eyes widened considerably, his mouth parted slightly, and he just stared at Italy. And stared. And stared. And stared. Italy was beginning to feel uncomfortable and started squirming. When Germany didn't relent on his intense stare, Italy let out a squeal and buried his face in a pillow that he grabbed from behind the motionless soldier. That shook Germany to his senses, but his voice was a little slow on the uptake.

"Y-y-you care ab-b-bout what I-I-I think?"

"Meph ah boo…" (Yes I do…).

"Oh, _Italia_…" Germany sighed, pulling the, once again, trembling form into his lap. He buried his face into the maroon hair that adorned the Italian's head, breathing in the scent of fresh noodles and herbal shampoo. He closed his eyes, trying to hold back the few tears of joy that threatened to spill over. He was happier than he had felt in a long time, since he now knew that his opinion meant that much to Italy. It was quite comforting, really, that Italy took everything that Germany said into that much consideration.

"Italy, I think you're perfect, did you know that? I think that you are a truly beautiful person. I love how you can draw a masterpiece with only your thoughts as a reference. I love how you get excited when the pasta that you make turns out perfect, as it always does. I love how you get everyone, even stubborn Romano, to smile and loosen up with just a few words. I love how you put _ve~_ at the end of your sentences. But most of all, I love how you look. You are so beautiful the way you are. Please, Italy…" Germany's voice began to crack, "Please don't think that you're fat, because you're _not_. Just because you don't have ripped muscles or a six-pack or anything like that doesn't mean that you're overweight, not at all. Do you understand?" Germany lifted Italy's chin up with his thumb and forefinger, forcing those amber eyes to look straight into his own blue ones.

"Germany..." Italy murmured, and he leaned in and kissed Germany full on the mouth. Germany, despite the fact that it was so sudden, didn't even flinch. He closed his eyes, deepening the kiss by pressing their bodies and faces as close together as they could manage. Italy wrapped his arms around Germany's neck as the soldier placed his hands on the small Italian's hips. They remained like that until the need for air became too great and they had to separate, panting slightly and with flushed faces.

"Just remember," Germany said, burying his face into Italy's enticing hair once more, "if you ever doubt yourself, I will never get tired of saying those things to you."

"Mmm…" Italy hummed in content, resting the side of his face on Germany's chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart. "I will."

Germany smiled at his little _Italia_ resting in his arms. He turned his head to look out the open window, greeted with the sight of Hungary perched on a nearby tree branch, squealing and taking pictures with her camera in one hand, while the other was acting as a stopper for her nosebleed. Prussia was leaning against the trunk next to her, cackling and clutching his stomach, trying to keep his balance on the branch. Germany sat there, wide eyed and still cradling Italy. He jumped up, knocking Italy over in the process with a confused whine, and was racing down the hallway and out to the back yard, yelling:

"PRUSSIA, YOU FIEND! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW SO I CAN DROP KICK IT TO HELL AND BACK, YOU BASTARD!"

Italy giggled, loving the sight of his little German soldier trying to coax Hungary down from the tree while simultaneously throwing flower pots and garden bricks at his older _bruder_.

Yes, Germany really loved him, and that seemed to make every one of his worries evaporate.

**Did you find the references? Hmmmm?! Well, the "Night Dimension" is from the NiGHTS video games, and the quote "Most women like men with a little meat on their bones. And that's true the other way around as well." is a slightly altered version of what Shikamaru tells Choji after Asuma-sensei tells him to lay off on the BBQ in Naruto, just before the Sasuke Retrieval Arc begins. Aww, Shikamaru, you're so sweet! -**

**As always, let me know about grammatical errors, awkward sentences, blah blah blah and all that sugary junk. Flames are not appreciated as reviews, they are for BBQ! OH YEAH!**


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